


being blue is better than being over it

by emperor_bell



Series: your home is with me [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, I'm Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 20:25:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12328248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emperor_bell/pseuds/emperor_bell
Summary: Murphy had never been a silver linings kind of guy, not one to ‘look for the beauty in tragedy’, and he wouldn’t sugar coat it so that it sounded right to everyone else. They could think he was cruel and insensitive all they wanted, it wouldn’t change the fact that the day his son was born was by far the worst day of his life





	being blue is better than being over it

**Author's Note:**

> this is a follow up to "home is what the heart protects" and it's a frickin' depressing mess ok, i don't know what else to tell ya. I wrote it on a whim and my friends want me to post it so here it is.

The day your child is born should be the happiest day of your life. But the universe is cruel - it always has been - especially to John Murphy.

It should’ve been. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. 

Murphy had never been a silver linings kind of guy, not one to ‘look for the beauty in tragedy’, and he wouldn’t sugar coat it so that it sounded right to everyone else. They could think he was cruel and insensitive all they wanted, it wouldn’t change the fact that the day his son was born was by far the worst day of his life.

He’d seen too much death to not know what it looked like, to not know when it was coming. His son entered the world screaming and there was a lot of blood… too much. Too much blood and not enough medical experience or equipment around to do anything about it. He was screaming more than his infant child and everyone else was eerily silent. They knew as well as he did that there was nothing they could do.

He clung to her hand, hoping beyond hope, his whole body shaking. Someone laid their son on her chest and he wished distantly that he could’ve had a camera, but he didn’t really need it. It was still the image seared the most deeply into his mind, the only clear image he has of the whole day. The love of his life looking down at their child with more love than he’d ever seen. 

“Don’t be angry with him, John,” she whispered, not looking away from the child’s face.

He wanted to be anyway. He wanted to hate this child, and himself for playing a part in creating him. For a moment he almost - almost - understood the way his mother felt. Instead, that was the thought that erased any ounce of anger he could’ve felt. 

He shook his head and took a ragged breath, “How could I be? he’s ours,” his voice broke and he willed himself not to cry. Not yet. Not now.

“Take care of him, please.”

His head swam with all the reasons he couldn’t do that, all the obstacles that stood between his son and survival. But he couldn’t think like that. For once in his life, he had to be an optimist. had to make it - he was all he’d have left of her.

“I will.”

She turned her head to look at him, and he’d never felt more love or more loved in his life, and he wanted to thank the universe for it. And then curse it for the rest of his days for ripping it away from him again.

The time for that would come, for that moment he pressed his lips to hers, then to her forehead and pressed his eyes closed. He felt her go still and whatever string that was still holding him together snapped.

**Author's Note:**

> crying yet? nah? it's cool. check me out on tumblr @clarkegryphus


End file.
